


Resting My Eyes

by GingerBreton



Series: The Theirins: The post-blight antics of King Alistair and Queen Ysabelle (here be fluff) [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Banter, F/M, Fluff, King Alistair, Post-Blight, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 03:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17759012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerBreton/pseuds/GingerBreton
Summary: One shot based on the tumblr prompt: I found you snuggling with my jacket, peacefully asleep (I took artistic liberties and made it a cloak)This one shot is set post-Blight for some royal domestic fluff with our favourite Ferelden king winding up his lovely queen, Izzy.





	Resting My Eyes

It had been an extremely long day, the hour was well past midnight as Alistair trudged his way through the palace’s many corridors. The morning had dragged through a lengthy Chantry service, unattended by his Ysabelle, as watching the Revered Mother having a glaring contest with the queen for three hours straight tended to distract the congregation. He shivered against the chill of the nighttime halls, having shed the necessarily thick layers he’d worn to the service that morning, _because Maker forbid it would be anything other than sinful to keep the Chantry heated_ , in their chamber before having to rush off to hold court. 

What should have been a short afternoon turned into a full evening of land disputes, leaving him with a migraine and the bad taste in his mouth that came with having to pull rank when it was impossible to mediate a dispute to the satisfaction of both parties. He had promised himself he would be a fair leader when he took this role, and he still endeavoured to be one even when it raised irritated glances from Eamon. Some day the Arl would be too old to further act as his advisor, and maybe once he was less beholden to the man he still saw as having raised him, he would truly be able to become the ruler he wanted to be. 

As he climbed the final stairs to the royal apartments, his mind still steeped in the stresses of the day, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to squeeze away the throbbing pain in his head, he heard the sound of rhythmic snoring drifting down the stone corridor from their chambers. The sound swiftly soothing his mood and bringing a quirk of amusement to his lips. Apparently his dear wife had lacked the endurance to stay up for him like she’d adamantly sworn she would. He crept through the solar, managing to stifle the bang of the heavy door sliding shut behind him, and pushed open the door to their bed chamber, his amusement heightened by the sight of a servant restocking the woodpile and stoking the fire, apparently not rousing Ysabelle in the slightest.

Alistair calmed the girl’s shocked reaction to the sudden arrival of the king with a winning smile and pressing his finger to his lips in an exaggerated silent ‘shhh’, as he crept his way over to the bed. 

If he had taken the lass’s reaction for nerves, he’d have been completely wrong. Any long term member of the palace staff was by now well aware of the royal couple’s inability to stand on ceremony outside of official functions, even during them, on occasion. Their king could not help but smile and joke with them, remembering always what it was like to be on the other side of that meeting, and when he could get away with it, he would regale them with anecdotes of his time at Redcliffe. The queen however had a wicked sense of humour and a long running banter with the palace’s cook. She’d sneak into the kitchens, as only a talented rogue knew how, and would let the lilt of her coastlands accent slip back into her voice as she asked inane questions. On so many occasions the poor cook had shouted at her before turning round to see her queen with an arm full of bread rolls and an angelic smile on her face. It had become such a regular occurence now that the cook had just taken to telling her off whenever she appeared in the kitchens. Queen Ysabelle had since become a regular fixture there, whenever she could sneak away from courtly duties. She had an uncanny knack for remembering names, and presents had been known to mysteriously appear at the homes of their staff at times of celebration. 

The young woman nodded to the king before turning back to her work, smiling to herself as she continued to tend to the fire, quietly awaiting the creation of another anecdote to entertain the other chambermaids with. 

Alistair followed the snores across the chamber, finding his wife still fully dressed in somewhat crumpled finery, curled up like a cat in the middle of the huge four poster bed. She was laid upon the thick winter cloak he’d thrown down in the brief moment he’d returned from the Chantry before his afternoon began. Her head rested on the fur trim, her hand gripping the material tightly as though daring someone to try and take it, but her face was utterly peaceful as her snores, now softer than before, rumbled on. 

As softly as he could, he crawled onto the bed and propped himself on his side just behind her. Smiling more broadly as her snoring continued, he reached round and gently tapped her on the tip of her nose. Her hand snapped up lightning fast, swatting away the intrusive touch and almost catching his face in the process. He couldn’t suppress the chuckle that burst forth as he dodged her hand, so close he felt the breeze of its passing tickle his skin. Unbeknownst to him, by the fire the chambermaid clamped a sooty hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle of her own. 

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured as Izzy looked back blearily at him over her shoulder, roused by his laughter in her ear. 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” her voice muffled as she buried her face back into the fur trim of his discarded cloak. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“Hmmm, yes,” he hummed in her ear, as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close enough that he could rest his chin on her shoulder, his cheek pressed against hers. “I could hear you resting your eyes all the way down the hall…” 

She was suddenly very alert in his arms, “That is a lie, Theirin. I do not snore.” 

“Like a wounded bronto, my dear.” He smirked widely, waiting for her inevitable outrage. 

“You take that back!” She wriggled in his arms, trying to twist to get a better angle from which to glare at him properly. On the far side of the room Alistair remembered the young woman who was desperately attempting to finish her task and gather her things. 

“I hate to break it to you, my sweet...” A statement which received an indignant snort in response, before he addressed the girl, who was now trying to sneak her way to the door. His voice sweet like honey, angelic as though he didn’t realise that in a political arena this was the type of question that could start a war with Orlais. “I think as an objective observer, you can, in fact, confirm that my dear wife snores..?”

“Alistair.” Daggers were being unsheathed in that voice, held at bay by Ysabelle’s new found awareness of another person witnessing their bickering. “Eliza, you don’t have to answer that. And _you_ can’t force opinions out of people who’ve sworn fealty to you. It’s cheating! It’s not like I go to Amaranthine every time I need to win an argument.”

“That’s not entirely true...” Alistair winced at the elbow that caught him solidly in the stomach. 

“Do you want to sleep in the corridor tonight?” 

“You can’t make me sleep in the corridor… I’m the king…” his voice was small, amber eyes baleful, like a giant puppy staring down at her, begging not to be put out. 

Eliza had by now gotten half way out of the door, before the queen’s voice drifted across the room to her. “Thank you, Eliza. Get yersel’ away to bed.” She paused giving her a quizzical look, “Oh, and Eliza... you’ve got a little something on your face, pet.” Sending the young woman scurrying away to her quarters when she realised there was a sooty handprint smeared across her mouth. 

“Alone at last.” Alistair grinned down at his wife, who now lay beneath him, arms folded and an obstinate frown knotting her brows, the playful edge to her pout was the only clue that he wasn’t really in trouble. 

“I will be when you get in the bloody hall,” she teased, stretching up to kiss him on the end of his nose, before flopping back onto the bed and yawning. 

“You should have gone to bed, love.” He gave her a curious look, remembering how he’d found her. “Why would you curl up in my cloak, when you’re already lying on a perfectly good bed?”

“Hmmm…” she purred, pausing to think as her finger tracing patterns along the line of his jaw while she looked up at him. “It smells like you.”

“Oh?” He tried to nip at her fingertips, but she was too quick, instead moving her fingers to run through his hair. “And what does it smell like?”

“Well, right now, slander and lies…” 

Alistair clutched at his chest dramatically, collapsing onto his back on the bed beside her. “You wound me!”

“And pasties.” She looked over at him, as he tried his best to feign innocence. An effect that lasted all of ten seconds before felt the grin sneak across his face. “You stopped off at the market on your way back from the Chantry, didn’t you?”

“You can’t possibly prove that?” He smiled over at her. Her hair was dishevelled from sleep, the fire flickering warm light across her tired features, but her eyes were bright, beautiful, and reading him like a book, like she’d always been able to. 

“I know you, my love.” She smiled back at him in the dim light. “Now, put out the lamp and take me to bed?”

“Yes, my queen.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I've not written anything in a little bit so am feeling a bit rusty. I hope you enjoyed <3


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